A Different Sort of Heat
by Traycon 3 and Fishey Me
Summary: Serious events stir up serious emotions. SMc Slash? Gen? You decide, but if you don't like the pairing, don't read the fic.


A Different Sort of Heat

((Authors note: The first paragraph thing is told from McCoy's angle of the episode "Amok Time"; the second is Spock's angle of the funeral service of McCoy's late ex-wife. Call it slash, call it gen, I don't care, but if you object to the pairing, don't read it. Oh, and this fic was written by FisheyMe only.))

Disclaimer: They're Paramount's, not mine.

Archiving Information: Please, no archiving without my permission. Overarching permission goes to the Spock/McCoy Haven and BLTS. Anyone else must ask first.

* * *

McCoy:

His first impression of Vulcan was that it was very dry. The heat was not a factor to him, somehow. If anything, the arid desert reminded him more of the chill of winter than the heat of summer. He almost laughed when he saw Jim sweating, almost grimaced when he realized he was sweating too. It was technically hot, but the heat didn't reach him. It was almost like it touched his flesh, but remained clinically detached from his heart. McCoy wondered if he would feel that way if he were visiting for some other reason, any other reason. But because Spock had been so inflamed, this planet reeked of sterile hospital air and felt cold and barren.  
This was to McCoy a medical dilemma, and that lovely young woman, despite her airs, nothing more than a vaccine. But her kind of cold could not soothe the intense heat in Spock. In fact, she proved to be a different kind of cure – she managed to burn Spock in a humiliating way, a burn caused by touching dry ice. Second degree, the most painful kind. McCoy shivered as he administered the drug to freeze Jim's system enough to save Spock from the raging burn. He remained so detached until he pushed Spock away from Jim. The pain in Spock's eyes froze McCoy's heart. He left, feeling colder than ever, with Jim. He knew that this kind of cold was the only cure, a cold lie… And when Spock saw Jim alive and well, that joy so apparent warmed McCoy's heart to its usual degree. Friendship it seemed had warmed even Spock's frigid heart. And the thought of that warmed McCoy's heart with a slightly different kind of heat.

* * *

Spock:

His first impression of Georgia was the suffocating humidity. He recognized but pushed away the heat the way he recognized and pushed away the emotions he refused to feel. Despite the absence of salt, the air reminded him of the crushing depths of the ocean, which shook him – a desert dweller – on an instinctual level. He supposed that if circumstances had been different this sunny and temperate place would not have felt so crushing. However, because McCoy was here to bury his ex-wife, this region felt as heavy as could be, the air too thick to really breathe. Thick with human emotions and stagnant water. This was, to Spock, a unique study in human psychology, and the pale remains of the matured woman seemed to be the driest human in the area. The other humans were turbulent and nonsensical, small boats on the torrential waves, and he like a lighthouse watching from a self-imposed distance. This woman seemed the whirlpool that the emotions swirled around. McCoy himself seemed to be drowning in the ceaseless tide of remorse and pain, clinging to the flotsam remains of his hate and strange love for this woman he had long ago divorced.  
A young woman, McCoy's daughter by this woman, seemed to try and salvage her father from his pain, but McCoy seemed stubbornly determined to drown. Dry land was too far for McCoy to swim to. Jim offered him a buoy to cling to, his duty, and McCoy unwittingly drifted closer to shore… Closer to reality. Spock offered his condolences. McCoy's response was biting, but familiar.  
McCoy refused to leave the water. Spock conceded to that wish, and as if to anchor a man in danger of being swept away by a coming tided, stepped into the shallows, just barely, and offered his hand. When he did, he felt the hot July, or was it simply the warming of two hearts? He looked at McCoy, who smiled and thanked him for being there, treading the now manageable waters. Spock nodded, appreciating the breeze that created in this swelter. As the silence between them increased, it seemed the temperature had as well. Or perhaps Spock could feel a different kind of heat within himself, one as alien to him as this region and as familiar as his sometimes friend.


End file.
